


miracle

by dimilethh



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn, dimitri acts rude sometimes like feral but not actually feral, similar but pretty different from classic demons/angels, the BL cast are demons, the church members are angels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimilethh/pseuds/dimilethh
Summary: "Then, what do you suggest?" Ingrid asks, "What is the fate of a wayward soul?"The King rest in his seat and leaned on his hand, his single working eye of ice opening and piercing his friend's own. A grin spread across his face as his other eye of blue flame flared, "Simple. We kill her."
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to start this!!! Inspired by some elements of the webtoon Devil Number 4, as well some themes from the manga/anime Devilman: Crybaby hehe. Absolutely love the angels/demons AU but wanted to mix the canonical relationships of 3h, so its definitely tweaked and is a combo of lots of things!! Hope you all enjoy :)

Byleth rose from her knees in front of the Goddess.

The silence of the church was broken only from her own breathing, stretching into an hour until the sun began to set. Upon hearing the bells distantly above her ring, she stood to take her leave.

She would not consider herself religious, but on certain days, when she sat in the still of her apartment and could concentrate on only the buzzing of nothingness, she figures she may as well spend that with another.

The pastor of the local church opens her eyes, watching from her place beside Byleth as she stands. 

"Farewell," her voice is even and calm, fitting for where they both worship, a gorgeous cathedral of light and hope. "Thank you for taking some time out of your day to give thanks to the Goddess." The faintest smile graces her lips.

Byleth nods and murmurs a soft, "Farewell, Pastor Rhea." Her voice is nothing as lovely as Rhea's, so she compensates by lowering her volume. Rhea nods back to her, a silent dismissal, and Byleth walks down the long aisle, heels clacking on the tile.

As she walks through the doors, she watches as children are picked up by parents in front of the church's school. There are always events and seminars organized by Rhea, Byleth notices, no matter the day or time. She had not been a visitor to church for very long - the first time she graced the steps was only two months ago, shortly after the passing of her father. She never attended an actual mass; she did not care much for the religion itself.

She visited because she felt as though this was, if possible, where the spirits of her parents would linger among the living. She never knew her mother, but she had given birth and died in the arms of the pastor and other clergy, as a clergywoman herself. Her father told her this when she was young, curious and stubborn and unwilling to speak most times but unable to be quiet other times without a proper answer. 

He yielded many times in his life with her, but the one request he had never entertained was telling her any detail - the name of the church, the pastor, the other clergy - was never uttered. The only string that Byleth wrapped around her finger to follow was the single time she stole a glance at a photo in the back of her father's closet. Jeralt had walked in moments later, saw her messy blue hair under all his hanging coats, and rushed over, lifting her off the ground and out of the room. 

He had given her a stern scolding that day, she recalled as she stepped into her car, and had made her spar with him twice as much until she fell asleep from exhaustion during a five minute break. She had not remembered any faces when she had stolen a glance at the image over 10 years ago, but the detail that struck her and stayed with her all this time was the woman in the middle of the photo, beautiful and heavenly, with long, mint hair.

When Jeralt passed, and there was no longer a threat of scolding and sparring to hold her back, Byleth tugged at the string around her finger, and Rhea had tugged back.

Byleth traveled to every church within a 10 mile radius everyday after work and found no woman with soft green hair. She expanded her search and traveled 20 miles. Nothing.

Then, two months ago, Byleth was requested to mentor a new client. The client was a beginner to the wonderful world of fencing, and was only committed to a month of training. Their time together was short, but Byleth had quickly grown to become friends with the girl and stayed in contact with her often even after she ceased to continue fencing. However, what had instantly shocked Byleth before they had grown close was the sight of bright, green curls.

"Flayn, charmed to meet you, Ms. Eisner!" her client smiled brightly, offering a small curtsy. Byleth offered a handshake, then put on her mask. By the end of their first session, Byleth had steeled herself to ask before she left: "Are you part of a religious organization, by any chance?"

Flayn blinked at her, confused, before smiling even wider than she had when they had met. "Ah, I actually am, Ms. Eisner. Are you looking into joining a religion?'

Sure, technically, yes, right?

"I am a frequent visitor to Garreg Mach, it is the most loveliest church around here by a longshot! Oh," Flayn paused, "But it is quite far from here, close to an hour. Surely you'd prefer a closer recommendation?"

No, no, not at all.

"Well, then! You should visit sometime," Flayn nods to her, "It really is a beautiful place, and the community is just as joyous. Perhaps I'll see you there!" 

Surprisingly, Byleth never saw Flayn there. In fact, she never saw anyone else there.

Byleth had searched up the church on her phone immediately after Flayn left, and arrived, as she had said, an hour later. She was stiff walking up the steps to the large wooden doors. She felt wrong, to some degree, visiting the esteemed church not out of faith, but on a chase out of desperation to feel anything again.

_I should turn back_ , Byleth frowned, standing at the doors. But then the doors had opened.

Rhea met her eyes for the first time and greeted her with a gentle smile. "Hello, child. Are you here to seek guidance from the Goddess?"

"No." Byleth paused. "I do not know where I'd want to be guided to, anyways."

Rhea had laughed, the sound like a soft, warm, breeze, and opened the door wider to welcome Byleth in. "Worry not," she mused, "There are places we belong in life, whether we know it or not."

So a handful of times Byleth returned to the church and kneeled until she felt numb. She did not speak to the Goddess, but spoke to her father instead. She never told Rhea her name, and Rhea did not ask.

Surely this was the woman who knew her parents. Flayn was a blessing, a sign of some sort, and if anything convinced Byleth that the Goddess was real, it would be her presence guiding her to the right church, almost miraculously. Byleth did not see green hair often, if at all, so she felt quite confident, but what fully convinced her was simply faith. Even against all odds, Byleth had found her. Surely, the Goddess was real, right?

As Byleth followed Rhea to kneel for the very first time, the sun shone through the stained glass in the ceiling and Byleth felt a peace settle within her that she hadn't felt for quite some time. She never knew Sitri Eisner, but she believed that Rhea was probably the closest thing to her presence. So she saw Jeralt in the grand statue of the Goddess in front of her and felt her mother in the soul of the pastor beside her.

She never told Rhea who she was, what her relationship was to Jeralt and Sitri Eisner. She figured there was no reason to put them both in pain. If Rhea prayed to the Goddess in pure faith, with words of gratitude, she decided that perhaps the Goddess deserved one less worshipper that simply wanted something from her. _Besides,_ Byleth thought, _my prayers cannot be answered._

She knew this every time she would visit their graves, yet she clasped her hands together again and again anyways.

Byleth spared one more glance at the children as she drove off, and saw Rhea standing at the doors, the same still smile spread across her lips. She saw children get into cars, infants held by their parents, but never once did another member of the clergy show. She did not come to any mass, yes, but Byleth knew her luck was poor when she realized this fact. It genuinely felt like Rhea was the one and only voice of Garreg Mach, standing before the Goddess statue and emitting the same grace and holiness to all the followers.

The Church of Seiros was the most followed religion in the world, yet within the scope of Byleth's knowledge, Rhea was the only religious figure that mattered.

* * *

"Ingrid, a word."

Ingrid spun around, surprised, and raised an eyebrow. "It is my day off, Your Majesty, did something happen?"

Yes, it was not everyday the Devil King decided to materialize in one's home, especially on one's day off. Ingrid stood in her kitchen, hand gripped tightly around a knife before she saw it was simply her old friend leaning against the counter.

He sighs, threading a hand through his unruly hair. Curling his fingers, he rest his forehead against the knuckles of his fist, eyes shut with clear annoyance struck on his face.

"Yes, unfortunately. I know you are not scheduled to return to duty for another few days, but Sylvain and Felix are already assigned tasks and are not available. I've found a very unsettling discrepancy I can only entrust to you."

Ingrid put down the knife, eyebrows furrowing. "Understood. I will be at your office shortly."

"Thank you," he sighs again before he spins, walking towards the wall and vanishing into blue flames.

"A discrepancy?" she murmurs as she quickly materializes in her bedroom. "Ugh," she spits, a spare feather from her spell getting caught onto her lip. "His Majesty has never used such a term since...the beginning of the time." She speaks aloud to herself, rapidly changing into clothes meant for the mortal realm.

"I just hope this is a quick fix," she sighs, crossing her arms over her chest to summon a stronger teleportation. Within a few seconds, the room around her spun and warped, clean white feathers emitting from her skin until the world began to slow. Upon its stillness, the surrounding feathers drifted to floor, vanishing upon touch, and she stood in front of the King in his office.

The room was barely lit by torches of blue flames along the walls. Cabinets and bookshelves completely lined the walls, meters and meters high above the ground. Only one wall, opposite of the entrance, was comprised of tall, gothic windows, pointed at the top and lined with thick decorative carvings. During this season, the view of the Underworld was graced with dark blue pockets of energy, matching the flames the King preferred. The only furniture in the entirety of the room was his desk and chair, intricate in carving and design like the windows behind him. For as tall and filled the walls were, the contrast of the emptiness in the room never failed to make feel Ingrid a bit out of place, even though she had known the King since his first days created.

"Well," he had shrugged when suggested to add even one or two more chairs for visitors, "Neither demon nor angel are here for more than a minute. Who would want to stay in my presence longer than necessary?"

Ingrid, not to mention Felix and Sylvain, found themselves chatting with their old friend quite often, but the lower demon did not mention that, as just as the King mentioned, his own knees were beginning to shake and he was eager to dismiss himself after his casual suggestion was rejected.

The King glanced at her, leaning on his elbows over his desk, stacks of mismatched papers strewn about, and a single, clean document in his hand.

She bows at the waist, "What is the matter, Your Majesty?"

Ignoring her formality, he squints at the paper one more time before shaking his head. He pushes his glasses up to rest on his head before pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and thrusting the paper out to her with another.

"Read me this, aloud," he mutters, "Pray tell what is wrong with me; I cannot seem to wrap my head around it so I must be on the verge of collapsing after sitting here and researching for two weeks straight and finding absolutely _nothing_."

Ingrid frowned, taking the document and scanning it quickly.

Upon seeing it she instantly recognized its format as an account of a mortal soul. When a soul was created by the Progenitor Goddess, a document would be simultaneously created in the King's library of records in his office. The name of the mortal was listed at the top, followed by their date of birth. From there followed a list of events mainly consisting of things mortals believed to be significant milestones, such as marrying, having a child, saving a life, obtaining a goal, owning a house, and most notably, death.

There was only space on the document for 10 significant events. Upon a mortal's death, the King could gaze at one's record and see which events that soul valued most in life to have made the final list of accomplishments. However, forever lingering at the bottom since their day of birth was their cause and date of death. The Goddess granted them a beginning, but also wrote their end. Everything in between, though - well, that was life.

The King was often amused when he would review some records, glancing at a person's means of death and waving his hand to open a portal to the mortal realm. Upon his will, he could create a pocket in the air to allow himself to observe that soul in question where they were. _Death by starvation?_ he would muse, _a famous politician?_ He could only sit and watch the years pass, watch the soul wither until things began to fall into place and -

_Ah, yes, that is believable now. A corrupt man, indeed._

But he would get a bit frustrated when he would suddenly remember an entertaining beginning and end, only to find that mortal had already died 3 years ago and he had forgotten to watch their last breaths unfold.

The Knights of the Underworld, the noblest and most powerful breed of demon, assisted in the King's endeavor to make sure the cycle of life and death continued smoothly. Often times, especially as the human population began to explode, the souls would need a push in one direction or another to be guided to their correct end. 

In some cases, the Lord Fraldarius would just need to cut off the mortal in traffic, and the frustration of that event would slowly and gradually change their future 10 years down the road. In other times, Lord Gautier would need to meet with the mortal's guardian angel and explain to them that they should not intervene in the next moment they experienced danger - it would affect their decision making in a few years that will ultimately lead to their fate.

But in rare, rare discrepancies - so rare the King could not even recall if this had ever happened before - Lord Galatea will be sent to directly intervene.

Ingrid read aloud, "Byleth Eisner. Birthed on the 20th of the Blue Sea Moon, 1997. In her 12th year alive, she successfully defended an elderly woman from being a victim of theft. In her 15th year alive, she successfully became the most renowned athlete in her sport in her country. In her 19th year alive, she was employed in the job of her dreams, assisting and teaching others in her sport. In her 23rd year alive, she," Ingrid paused, "...failed to save her father from a group of home invaders, resulting in his death. Yes, I remember him. Felix was assigned to convert his soul, right?"

Silence.

Ingrid looked up at the King, his eyes still shut in frustration, "Sir, it is not common a mortal chooses for their life to be defined by a failure, but it is not unheard of either."

"Not that," he hums, "Lower."

Her eyes traced back down the list, "Lower...?" Clearing her throat, "Date of death...Heart failure, 20th of the Blue Sea Moon, 1997." She stilled. The King looked up, watching his friend's eyes widen and quickly dart from the bottom of the page to the top, and back again.

"Date of..." she trailed off, brows furrowing. She met his gaze, "Your Majesty, what is the meaning of-"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking," he sighs again, tugging at the collar of his tie. "And to add to the wondrous mystery," he turns to his side, bringing a hand up and quickly dragging it down, flames in the wake of his motion. He looked to her, "I cannot open a portal to insight. I cannot see, cannot locate her soul."

Ingrid closed her mouth, previously agape, and shook her head, "Have you told anyone else about this?"

"Of course not," he clenches his jaw, "I have not had an issue with a soul. Not once, in the centuries that Sothis decided to create these mortals, have I seen such a phenomenon. I do not know what to think of it."

His face relaxes and he places a hand on his chin in thought, eye shutting.

"It is true that there is no protocol for this," Ingrid purses her lips, "But I am drawing a blank on any possible action. Sothis has never made a mistake. Either she has planned something we do not know, or this mortal has done the impossible, and has escaped fate."

"Perhaps," his voice low and quiet, "Regardless, the natural extinguishing of mortal souls is necessary, every single one must be recycled back into our universe to restore our world, to appease the already dead. We owe Sothis, as our creator, that much." His fingers strummed on the wood of his desk.

"Then, what do you suggest?" Ingrid asks, "What is the fate of a wayward soul, of a mortal such as Byleth Eisner?"

The King rest in his seat and leaned on his hand, his single working eye of ice opening and piercing his friend's own. A grin spread across his face as his other eye of blue flame flared, "Simple. We kill her."


	2. deceit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone is on the move for ms. eisner's soul :O  
> Thank you to everyone who is reading and commenting, you're always amazing encouragement :)

"How have you been, Byleth?" Byleth glances up from her seat to see Flayn sitting down across from her. The air was only gently kissed by the Sun's warmth, and the wind fluttered against the friends' skin as they sat outside a small sandwich shop in the center of Fhirdiad. 

Following Byleth's last visit to the Garreg Mach Church two days ago, she felt a peculiar chill up her spine as she accelerated off the parking lot and into the street. She felt, even past the trees, the streetlights, the houses, Rhea's lingering smile as she had first started her car. She noticed the absence of others a bit too much for her liking - perhaps that was why Rhea's presence seemed so overwhelming.

"Hello," she greeted, nodding to her- "Ah, wait. Are you going to order...?" She glanced inside the shop, having already ordered herself.

"Oh no, no," Flayn patted her hand that rested on the table, "Let us chat! I ate before I came, we can just go out for dessert after!"

"Alright," Byleth smiled uneasily, focused on the topic at hand. She searched within her to find why she would feel anxious, yet she found no answer. There were times when she knew she could be stubborn with herself, denial hardening around her skin and preventing another from convincing her otherwise - but this time, there was nothing to even deny. 

Starting again, she asked a bit hesitantly, "Have you been to Garreg Mach recently?"

"Oh, yes," Flayn nodded eagerly, "I visited two or three days ago, I believe. I'm there quite a few times a week, my father is a relative to and works closely with the pastor."

Shock almost slipped onto Byleth's face, "Is that so?" She sipped her water as Flayn continued.

"Yes, I don't recall mentioning it to you before," Flayn smiled sheepishly, "I withheld because I didn't want my recommendation to seem biased that way. Garreg Mach is a lovely place and," she paused, "...I suppose I wanted to see if it'd be where your faith lies."

Byleth hummed, "What do you mean?"

"Oh." Flayn blinked, "I think I mean it'd be nice to see if you chose the church voluntarily, as well as to test if fate was meant for you to go there. I think it was fate I was created under their alignment myself, after all."

Byleth nods and offers a small smile, "Yes, I can tell it's a big part of your life." She pauses, steeling herself before questioning, "But I've noticed there are not many people present. I have never seen another visitor praying when I pray, and have never seen another member of the clergy besides the pastor. When is your father there? Perhaps I should pay him a visit."

Flayn smiles, waving her hand, "Oh, do not worry about my father. He is often so busy within the walls of the church managing events and such, he is not much to interact with the visitors."

Byleth smiles back, sensing Flayn's tension, "And then, the visitors?"

She laughs, "Perhaps you simply have bad luck!"

"Amusing, isn't it?" Byleth leans against her palm, "To be unlucky all nine times I've visited?"

Flayn's laughter ceases, yet her smile remains. Byleth watches as her lips purse, the emotion failing to reach her eyes. "Come now, Byleth. Are you trying to ask something of me?"

Her friend is simply offering bait, she knows. She will not give her the answers she seeks - Flayn asked to simply take, to find out Byleth's angle. She declines and simply stands, taking the small opportunity to think, "I think my order may be ready to soon, I'm going to check and wait inside."

"Certainly," Flayn replies quickly.

She enters and stands against the furthest wall, looking out the window and glancing at her friend who entertains herself with her phone.

To survive as a child, Byleth was taught to be critical and analytical. She was taught by Jeralt to look at a situation with no prejudice beforehand, no assumptions based on looks or rumors - to believe only what she saw with her own to eyes.

Admittedly, Byleth was a bit of a burden to her stern father in this sense, far too imaginative to ever truly grasp his mindset. So, in the moment, as she waited near the shop counter, she tucked her chin into her hand and allowed her skeptical, inventive gears to turn.

Jeralt muttered to her, "The girl just wants to share her knowledge. You asked for a church, you got one, kiddo."

Byleth would've looked at him doubtfully. "If I am correct, you wouldn't have said that," she thought bitterly, "If I am correct, they know you, and they know me."

"You think I know everyone," Jeralt sighs, shaking his head, "Whenever we'd move places you thought me knowing a few people meant I knew everyone in town."

"Not everyone," she thought, "But the woman in your photo, yes." She dismissed him and grabbed her order, heading back to Flayn.

"Oh, Byleth," Flayn stood as she approached, apprehension in her eyes, "You didn't invite anyone else, did you?"

Byleth rose an eyebrow, "No, I did not. Why do you look worried?"

"Oh, well," she smiled softly, looping her arm through Byleth's and beginning to walk past their table. "I just got some bad vibes from some of the people here. I think I made much too prolonged eye contact to be comfortable."

"Did you look away?"

"Pardon?" Flayn blinked, the volume of her voice slightly rising as the two women walked along the sidewalk towards the central park.

"Eye contact is broken if one turns their face." Byleth replies, eyeing the tweaks in Flayn's expressions.

"Yes, technically," her fingers brush through the bottom of her curls, "But either way, a suspicious individual is suspicious!" She gives an unconvincing act.

She says nothing more of the subject as they continue on their way to the open grasses to eat and chat.

* * *

The chill of a new fall is apparent in the Underworld, at least to Ingrid. The souls of the mortal that linger beyond their office walls make their way to the Intermediaries, flushed in blue flames and light. The general iciness of their world is admittedly not as enjoyable to her as the mortals' realm - even the brutal cold of winter Faerghus, fatal to the poor and unsheltered mortals, is a welcoming breeze to Ingrid's skin. The chill of Underworld sinks deeper than a mere climate, and she frowns at the delicate tremors that run through her bones.

She brushed short strands behind her ear as she opens another file of records. Waving her hand in a swirled motion, she lifts the stack of papers and quickly flicks the tip of her pointer finger up repeatedly to go through the series. Her eyes are locked onto to only one spot of the document. The box of records at the foot of her desk is the documents containing lineage of any mortal with the surname 'Eisner' in the past hundred years.

She focused on the upper part of the pages where direct relatives were listed. The file she was searching through was about the middle of what was stored within the box, and she dreaded to think she may have missed a name earlier on. 

As page after page flipped and flew to the back of the pile, Ingrid's eyes remained unmoving, stilled, locked onto the list of names until - Byleth Eisner. Daughter.

"Yes!" she clenches a fist, releasing her hold on the stack and allowing it to gently rest before her. She picks up the single document belonging to Jeralt Reus Eisner, scanning other information.

"What?" she cried aloud, tracing her finger over the lines meant to list partners. The infuriating thing listed all of his significant others since he was, oh Goddess, a mere 11 years old, but did not signify any woman as the mother of his child. She hesitated on relaying the other discrepancy to her boss, but ultimately decided against it. She reminded herself she was trusted with this situation fully - all these details did not matter as long as Ms. Eisner's soul was obtained in the end.

She stood from her desk, materializing in front of His Majesty's wooden doors. She knocked five times, a sign between the four friends that it was them beyond the walls.

"Come in," his voice chimed, gentler than the occasions she would knock only twice and he would groan, "Enter."

She entered and grunted at seeing her other friend already visiting the King.

"Ingrid!" Sylvain grins, approaching her with his arms stretched.

She paused a meter away from him. "Yes?"

His face fell into distress, "It's called a hug, Your Knightliness."

She huffed, walking past him, "You make up words now, Sylvain?" Upon reaching His desk, she saw he was amused by their banter, a small smile on his lips as he awaited her to speak. Ingrid returned it, at ease with his improved mood.

"I've found her father," she began, handing him the paper, "I now request his soul's record."

"Ah, he mentioned that," Sylvain peeked over her shoulder, then leaned against the desk.

The King eyed the document as one hand was brought out in mid air and slowly drawn closer to him, opening a drawer in the distant file cabinets. The two friends waited as he scanned over the information, the faint sound of paper striking paper reaching them until a single document flew down to the lay on the wood.

Ingrid tensed at the frown across his face, wincing when he shot her a glance, raising his brow. She hoped, above all else, he did not notice the list of Jeralt's partners - his mood was barely recovering, likely due to the presence of his easygoing knight. He held the look for a moment before clearing his throat, putting down the familial record above the life record and sliding it back to her.

"Well done," he nods, "I expect success within the next few days?"

"Days?" she tilts her head, "Unfortunately, not likely, Sir. Seeing as you cannot locate her soul, I can only hope that," she glances at Jeralt's document in her hand, "She is within proximity of his recent death location. If they hadn't lived near each other, it may take up to a week or two to locate her."

He cursed under his breath and Ingrid sighed. "It's less than stellar circumstances," she continues as the King raises a hand up to the side, above his head, "But-"

She freezes, gaping at the image before her.

Sylvain laughs, loud and genuine, "Well, good news for everyone."

The King had dragged his hand down as she had spoke, igniting a visual portal to Jeralt Eisner's location of death. The flames vanished from the middle, encircling the rip in the air to reveal a mortal cemetery of only a few graves. There depicted the back of single woman standing at the foot of a grave off-centered in their vision. 

At a glance, this location showed Jeralt had died at the edge of another's grave. They squinted into the image, reading off the gravestone 'Sitri Eisner. ???? - Blue Sea Moon, 1997.'

"Her mother," the King frowned, "Her mother..." A sigh, "that's not listed as Jeralt Eisner's partner?"

Sylvain leaned over to glance at Ingrid's paper as she muttered, "No, apparently not..."

Sylvain turned back to the image, noting, "She's standing before her father now, no? Jeralt? That's probably her, then, right?"

"Seems so," he mumbles, eyeing the woman turned away from them. "How did you escape death, mortal?" he asks aloud, and three of them jump as they watch Byleth's head quickly whip to her side, towards the direction of their portal's perspective. The King gives an alarmed glance to his two friends, who look just as startled.

"A coincidence, I'm sure, Sir," Ingrid frowns as they watch her head slowly turn back to Jeralt's grave in front of her. The knight is startled at a realization, "Now," she clenches her fist, grabbing the document of Jeralt's life, "is the only time we'll have a precise location on her. I must go, now."

"Wait, Ing-" she cuts off Sylvain's words by vanishing immediately, and the two men swat off stray, swirling feathers at her motion.

The King looks at his friend, "She has always been more ambitious than you, materializing in and out without a care." 

Sylvain shrugs in response, "Just wanted to help. So, Your Majesty, got any more quests for your favorite knight?"

His eye is transfixed on his still open portal, waiting until he confirms Ingrid's arrival before losing her image. He quickly assigns Sylvain another list of souls soon on their deathbed, and his knight gives a dramatic salute and bow before disappearing into orange ember.

As he watches the still of her back, he tenses in his chair, sitting up straight when he hears her faintly mutter, "I do not know how I did it." She falls to her knees, her hands hesitantly clasping together, "But on some days, I wish I hadn't." He stands up from his seat, walking closer to her to hear her soft words. "If there is a Goddess..." her head falls, resting against her hands, "If there is any higher being...Let me know he traveled to you safely."

He grunts, raising his fingers and flicking them up to extend his vision above them. He confirms that there is, indeed, a tree just above where she rests, its branches filled with reddening leaves as autumn threatens their fall. He gently blows above, and watches as her shoulders tense when the rush of all the leaves come tumbling down in front of her, covering the grass and stone in a perfect rectangle.

He sits again, still focused on what he can gather from the limited body language she gives. Her shoulders begin to shake, her head dropping even further and quiet sobs escaping her in sharp breaths. He frowns at the sound she makes, propping his arm against his desk and closing his eye, listening to her. He did not open his insight portal often; he opened it to the image of crying even less. 

His heart, though created stronger and pumping more than mere blood through his veins, beat in tandem with the mortals he gazed upon. He felt himself sometimes growing attached to them, watching final hours and whispers of conversations before he inevitably sent one of his knights. Mothers watching children bleed to death. Lovers convincing themselves they would live another day. And the rare occasion. Death alone.

Even himself, after millions and billions of mortal deaths, felt something in the pit of his stomach churn as last words were uttered only for no one to return them. He prevented that scenario as much as he could.

His right eye, more often than not hidden behind his eyepatch, was not as damaged as some assumed. Pink skin scarred and folded over showed the results of his using the gift bestowed upon him for taking up his role. Upon being given the Underworld, his eye would be able to ignite and let him see the future world. Draining as it may be, he allowed himself to use it in instances like these.

He did not tell his knights, who believed him to be silently administrating all within the Underworld, but more times than he'd like to admit he would visit the mortal realm to accomplish such tasks. Only once did Felix walk into his office, stubborn against any etiquette towards the King, only to find him leaned back in his chair, working eye shut, flame pouring out the damaged.

Felix had approached his desk, resting the tips of his fingers against the wood and watching him, who seemed oblivious to his presence. "Is it this easy to assassinate the King?" he asked aloud.

The flame withered and he gently turned his head back down to meet his friend's gaze. "Hardly. If I hadn't sensed you at the door, I would've overrode your teleportation."

Felix grunts, "Well, with that out of the way, what the hell was that about?"

"My eye?" he grins, amused.

"No, boar, your charming new watch," he rolls his eyes, "I'd always thought it a bit tacky as a special effect, but I highly doubt I'd ever find you sitting in your office and setting your face aflame for fun."

His grin softens, and he tells him, "While not a secret, I would prefer you to not mention this to anyone. You've never been one to gossip anyways, my friend." Felix grunts again as he continues, "It allows for me to see ahead of our time. I use it occasionally when I...prefer to see a death played out differently."

His friend scoffs, "And it only took thousands of years of me randomly barging in on you for you to mention it? And what the hell does that mean, anyways?"

"It means I don't particularly enjoy seeing mortals die alone," he frowns.

Felix stares at him for a second, mouth slightly opening when he doesn't declare his statement as a jest. "Does it matter? The dead are dead, the living are living. You bother to spare your time for a soul that will face death regardless?" Felix knew his friend was a bit insane; he had known he was a little too invested in his job since being granted it, but this struck a new chord in him that didn't make him anything less than absolutely baffled.

The King chuckles, "Yes, I do. A mortal's lifespan is terribly short. Assisting in their final hour seems like eternity to them, but is a mere drop in the ocean for those such as our selves, Felix." He reveals an image in the air, "This is the young man of 32 years that will die tomorrow, in his bed, alone." He turns to him again, the flames collapsing the portal. "The papers sometimes depict specifics I cannot intervene in, such as accidents, murder, the likes. However, his wife is only out of town that night to attend a trip with her friends. It takes no more than a mere 5 minutes of my time to strike some of her friends sick, and she will stay home with him."

Felix is bored. "And so?"

He furrows his eyebrows, "And so what? That is all - he will awaken in the night and panic as death consumes him, but will see the face and hear the words of his beloved as he drifts and finds peace. It is a much nicer fate than suffocating in isolation, no?"

Felix simply shrugs, "I understand it for myself, but mortals are not the same as us, boar."

He looks at him incredulously, "They differ not in a way that matters once they meet me. Mortal or otherwise, we can all die, and we can all experience either a pleasant or miserable end. Surely that makes sense to you?"

He frowns, "It's precisely death that makes me argue it doesn't matter - pleasant or not, they're gone. But," he raises his hands out in defense, shaking his head, "Whatever pleases His Majesty. Just don't let it interfere with the necessities." 

"It wounds me that you'd think I'd let it," he had replied.

Now, as he watches the woman sob at the grave of her father, he slips his finger under the strap of his eyepatch, sliding it off and leaning back in his seat, gaze fixated towards the ceiling. He shuts one eye, and opens the other.

* * *

Byleth snaps her neck up at the sound of another approaching her. She quickly catches sight of a woman and presses her palms into her eyes, taking a breath to steady herself. "Yes, may I help you?" Her throat is dry and her words come out hoarse.

The woman stands reasonably far away from her, looking at her with pity. Byleth cannot recall ever knowing a woman with short, blonde hair - even her clothes seem foreign. "I don't mean to intrude," the woman apologizes, lowering to her knees similar to Byleth. "I just...heard he was here. I didn't realize there was another person visiting...I..." she shakes her head, "I'm sorry. I can leave you alone," she begins to stand, but Byleth tugs.

"You know my father?"

Ingrid turns back to her hesitantly, before returning to her spot in the grass. "Yes, it's...been quite some time, Byleth. I don't blame you if you don't remember me, I just felt indebted to visit him as I was passing through Faerghus." Byleth's eyes are focused on the woman's forlorn look towards the gravestone. She continues, "He taught me how to fight when I was much younger - maybe 12, 13 years ago or so? I certainly was not the best in the group," she gives a bittersweet laugh, "that was definitely Leonie, but-"

"Ah," Byleth murmurs, turning back to look at the stone. "I understand. You're right, I don't remember you, but I understand. He's helped many."

She nods and pauses, "I'm Ingrid, by the way." At the silence, she turns to look at the stone as well, before asking, "Did you..." she motions to the shape of the leaves around the lot, "shape this?"

Worry strikes the mortal's eyes, "No, I..." her hands fist, "It must've been someone else. It was like this when I came." She knew there was little chance mere confidence would make a surreal phenomenon seem more real. She could not explain her potential communication with the Goddess to someone she hardly knew.

The two sat in silence, the breeze unrelenting, until the sun began to set. Byleth stood at last. "Thank you for visiting him. He would've been grateful." 

Ingrid rises to follow her, giving her a small smile, "Of course. I thank you, for letting me stay with you." She bends to bow, and falters for a moment, her head still lowered. Byleth takes a step towards her when she brings her hand to her mouth, her chest quickly fluttering. "I'm sorry," she turns back up to her, eyes watery, "I know it was selfish of me to stay, you're his daughter, I just-"

Byleth rests a hand on her shoulder, "Do not worry. I can visit him forever." She glances at the grave mournfully, "If you are visiting, you cannot. You respected and cared for him enough to come - I cannot deny his peace the privilege of a welcomed visitor."

Ingrid nods, eyes closing before she takes a deep breath, opening them again. "I thank you again, then, Byleth, I-"

She gasps as she suddenly feels her head slam into the dirt, pressure in between her shoulder blades. The other woman's breath is against her ear, "Who are you?" Her voice is steady, hardly above a whisper as she digs one knee into her back.

"B-Byleth, I told you," Ingrid stammers, placing her arms out to show her peace, "Jeralt had tau-"

"He told no one of my existence." She places a hand against the back of her neck, pushing down on it slightly. "I found and contacted Leonie last month and she did not even want to believe he had a daughter older than her. I ask one more time - who are you?"

Ingrid is silent for a moment, before her quiet answer, "I work with a church nearby. I saw the tree from a distance, above you, move violently in a wind that did not seem to affect anything else nearby. Then, as I approached, I saw them fall into - into that shape." Byleth tenses above her, easing the pressure on her neck as she sighs, "I was almost convinced you were the Devil. But seeing as Jeralt passed recently, I suspect it is more likely to be him. As we sat, I spoke to him, just now."

Byleth opens her mouth to try and speak, but shuts it again, feeling her legs become numb. "You...you spoke to him?"

"Yes, I..." Ingrid turns her head slightly to try and see her, "That is how I know of his past. As you said, there is no one else with the information of his mentorship."

"No," she clenches her fists, shaking her head, "I don't believe you. But I don't care. What you say you saw is true - but when those leaves fell, I called out to a higher being, not my father." She stands, placing her weight on Ingrid's back for good measure before whispering, "Whoever you spoke to - it was not him." She muses, "Perhaps it was the Devil." She places her boot further up to once again apply pressure to her neck, "Do not follow me. Do not do anything to damage his grave. I don't care who you are anymore. Leave me."

She steps off, trekking through the leaves and grass as the sky darkens, the azure moon bright.


	3. ungodly hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading <3 Rather long time since I've updated!! Hopefully I'll be back to a more consistent schedule soon :))

When Ingrid arrives back in His Majesty's office, her heart plummets at the sight of her friend's body entirely consumed in flame, spine arched out of his chair and hand clawing against the wood of his desk. The sheer volume of his abrupt yelling draws her out from her shock.

"Your Majesty!" she cries, gaze locking onto the fire pouring from his eye. Summoning the most powerful wind she can create, she releases a rapid shot of air against his damaged eye socket, extinguishing the source.

In an instant the room is completely dark, both still and panting until the King raises a trembling hand over his eye. Within the next beat, the blue flames along his walls are lit once more. She calms herself and refocuses onto him, eyeing any revealed skin and finding no trace of a burn - and yet, at his folded fingers laying against his face, she sees streams of blood race down his cheekbones, his neck, dripping into the material of his suit. "A-are you-" she begins.

"Yes," he sighs, lifting his head slowly from the top of his chair where he had been laying. He looks at her, and she is certain there is no emotion hidden on her face as she gapes at the deep gouge of his eye socket, bleeding and steaming. The pupil of his working eye is blown out, and sweat is evident on his skin as he looks at her, struggling to further explain.

"I am fine," he repeats, breaking eye contact and looking at the floor. "I tried to..." He shakes his head and briefly explains to his second Knight the gift bestowed on him.

"Oh," Ingrid blinks awkwardly, scratching the back of her head, "I thought you did that to seem dazzling."

He shakes his head again, "No, no, Goddess." Frowning, he wipes off a trail of blood up from his collarbone, staring at the mess before turning to her again, "Just now, as you spoke with her, I closed the portal and began to look into her fate - to see if she'd pass soon, and who she would be with."

"And so...what were the results?" she asks nervously.

"This," he hisses, aggressively wiping his sleeve across his cheek, "I saw nothing. I opened my eye and felt like I was shot through the skull with an arrow." His skin was smeared with stained red. "When I opened my working eye, I was engulfed in my own flame." He clenches his jaw, voice lowering, "This was gifted to me by Sothis Herself. Why would it fail me? Why now?"

Ingrid stood silently across from him, eyes locked on the floor and brain racking for any clue despite the little she understood.

He stands suddenly, turning to walk towards the windows behind him, and she follows, maintaining a distance but giving her old friend her company. 

"Byleth Eisner." He murmurs, "How did it go?"

"I interacted enough to secure her address. We know her general location now, locating her on the daily should only take a few minutes. She-" Ingrid paused and turned to him, "Wait. It was you, with the leaves?"

He meets her eye, "Yes. What of it?"

She sighs, "Well, I messed up my character the first time, and thought perhaps her Guardian Angel caused the leaves the second time. Both my explanations failed to convince her. She flipped me onto the ground and pressed my neck down to interrogate me."

He snorts. "And suddenly I feel less empathetic about taking her soul. Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course - she succeeded only because I allowed her to. She's still only mortal." A worried look falls over her face. "Your Majesty, why did you interact with her at all?"

He pauses, looking out into the Underworld in view, mountains and canyons that are ever shifting into fields of flame. "She heard me, I think."

"Heard you, Sir? Certainly not," she furrows her eyebrows, "Only beings like us can hear each other, and only if we will it, as well."

"She replied to me," his chest heaves, suddenly feeling dreadful as he recalls the actions leading up to his attempt at foresight. "When I had asked her earlier, how she escaped death. She said she did not know, and sometimes wishes she hadn't."

His friend stands beside him, stunned. She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it, shutting her eyes as minutes pass. She begins again, "Is there any con in allowing her to live, Your Majesty? We cannot guarantee her death - we can only attempt to persuade her Guardian Angel to stop protecting her, because based on her reaction to me, I don't think she will be persuaded to commit suicide any time soon."

"We can try to influence other mortals to kill her, because I wouldn't be surprised if she has no Angel." he replies, crossing his arms. "Her death is needed. I see it now more than ever. I cannot begin to imagine the long term consequences - but something is not right." He glances at her, "Did you see Jeralt's date of death?"

His friend frowns, "No, but it was a few months ago."

"His record stated he was meant to die in 22 years from now." He mutters, turning back to approach his desk.

"No, surely not," Ingrid shakes her head, stretching out her hand and allowing the paper to fly to her. Her eyes dart to the bottom and dread fills her gut as it had him.

"She is affecting more than we think." He slowly stalks around his desk, blood dripping from his chin slowly onto the floor, a ring of its small puddles forming in his path. "Ingrid, I have not felt pain in centuries. I am one of the most powerful of our breed, and we haven't quarreled with other higher beings since the creation of humanity. But that wretched woman," he clenches his fist. "Tainted the Goddess' gift. Now, more than ever, I wish we could contact the Goddess and have her kill that woman herself." He sighs, falling into his chair once more. "But she hardly reaches her hand out to us. And when she does, we seldom have a way of accepting it."

"I will try again tomorrow, Your Majesty," Ingrid bows, her face stern. "I now understand the gravity of our success, what you say is true and unprecedented. For the sake of the Goddess and our kind, I will not fail."

He reaches for his eyepatch, slipping it back on and looking at her again. "You will not." He rises, and slams his hand into the center of her chest, knocking her body across the room, against the floor. She coughs violently, attempting to rise onto her shoulders. "Y-Your-"

"Worry not." he replies, walking towards her. "Stand, my trusted Knight." She coughs continuously, shock preventing her from gaining her ground smoothly. She meets his eye, still allowing her breath to calm. He informs her, "I've merely transferred my leadership to you, for the time being."

"Pardon?" she gasps, disbelief across her features.

"Your magic has priority within this room," he continues, "and you have been given my ability to locate mortals with the insight portals." He begins to walk towards the center of the room, gazing up at the ceiling that points highest above his spot. Lifting his hand, Ingrid watches as a lance flies rapidly down from above, his fingers gripping its shaft just as it threatens to drive into his knee. "I have bestowed temporary supervision of the Underworld to you. I trust you know the protocol, I trust you will not fail." He spins the lance in his hand quickly and it disappears into flame. "I believe it is best I cut this at the root, once and for all."

Hesitantly, Ingrid lifts a hand into the air as she had observed him done countless times before, and thought of a being. Swinging her arm down, the portal revealed their colleague eagerly chatting with a few mortals.

He scoffs at the sight, "I gave Sylvain a rather long list of souls to collect, and he is out flirting with women?"

She nods slowly, somewhat dazed at her new ability, before extinguishing it and turning back to him. "Are you certain about this, Sir? You haven't ever taken such a quest upon yourself before."

He nods solemnly, "I will not be at ease if I gave the task to any of you three - not because I think you incapable, but because I fear whatever phenomenon that is at her side is too capable."

"I understand, of course," she furrows her eyebrows. "A last question. Dedue is scheduled to return from his meeting with Cichol soon. What is his next task?"

"Perfect," he grins, "I could use his help. Send him to me upon his arrival. This may take quite a bit of mortal time."

"Understood," she replies, bowing at the waist. When she returns her eyes up again, he is already gone.

* * *

The city is silent at the ungodly hour of 4am, save for the rare car rumbling past her. Her quick steps and breaths are in time as she travels along the sidewalks, unable to find any sort of peace after the alarming interaction with the woman at her father's grave. Her rhythm slows as she approaches a bus bench and she catches her breath, hands reaching up to redo her ponytail.

She closes her eyes and sighs, leaning against her knees. Her father led a miraculous life. He seemed to know far too much about the world, every corner of Fodlan greeted them with open arms - even considering she was seldom allowed to interact with such greetings. She recalled joking with him on more than one occasion that perhaps he had more time than other people on his hands - 25 hours a day? 366 days in a year? His personal favorite suggestion was that every year was a leap year for Jeralt Eisner.

Time alluded her father in many ways. The few times she stuck around him as he greeted old friends she would always perk up at their exclaims about how he hadn't changed in over 10, 15, 20 years. His entire existence seemed to defy time, the variable flowing out of his soul in excess as he trekked Byleth along the continent since the day she was born. However she'd had never guessed just how suddenly his hourglass would shatter, steady stream of sand rushing, spilling helplessly between her fingers.

She squeezed her eyes as the distasteful memory resurfaced. The weight of him against her folded knees. His hand encircling her own. The distant smile on his face. Her own tears against his cheek.

Against her own will, she forced herself to stand again, quickly darting off as her gaze remained locked onto the cracks of cement that passed her by.

There was no recollection of that woman at all, no matter how hard she tried to fit her into some memory of her childhood, just to put her conscious at ease. After the first incident of her digging through his old photos and belongings, he significantly cut down on them, and by the next time they moved, his closet only had one box inside of it. Upon his passing, she couldn't bring herself to look at whatever was in the box. She didn't want to see him in his youth with old friends, light in his eyes and glory in his smile.

Despite her resistance, though, she was forced to dig past the rising vomit in her throat and slip the knife past the tape, peeling the cardboard flaps open. The woman at his grave was more unsettling than his death - after some months, she had barely begin to grasp even the smallest slivers of peace, but her presence chased all such comfort away immediately. She didn't know if the woman lived in Fhirdiad, if she had been stalking Byleth - perhaps that's what made Flayn nervous back at the cafe?

The eeriness of it all alowed her to open the box. To her dismay, the blonde woman was not present in the 2 photo albums packed up. One album was entirely of Jeralt and her mother - nothing she hadn't seen before. The other was an album of herself.

Byleth cried once in her life, but she felt the threat of tears building behind her eyes once more as her shaking fingers flipped through the pages. Most photos were only of her, with him having taken them. She paused at one depicting her sitting on a dock, flopping hat on her tangled head of hair and baggy jeans soaked and bunched up to the knee. She was smiling at him, her grin awkward and her front tooth missing and her scrawny hands clutched at a fishing rod. She recalled the slow day in Dierdru, the sun warm against the wood under them and their exposed skin until they returned home with a bucket of fish and bodies of blistering sunburns.

Goddess, did she miss him beyond belief.

She tilted her head to the side briefly, glancing behind her and picking up her pace when she noticed the figure of a man behind her, jogging as well. Clicking her tongue, she glanced at the street sign and began to make her way to the closest 24/7 convenience store.

With her jogging shifting to a run, the frustration within her mind began to boil over. She did not see whatever the figure behind her intended to do as a threat - she wasn't skilled in swords and hand to hand combat for nothing - but as another inconvenience, especially as she was trying to sort things out as she exercised. Slowing down as she approached the store, she glanced behind her and tensed at the sight of the man still jogging, across the parking lot at the entrance.

She entered in calmly, the bell above her jingling. The cashier glanced at her, giving her a nod and slight smile that she returned before making her way to a random aisle to pass time. Letting out a sigh, her eyes mindlessly danced across the bright candy wrappers.

If she never saw the blonde woman again, no problem. However if she did, Byleth didn't think she'd be able to dismiss her as easily as she did the first time. Her father mentioned no major conflict he could've possibly entangled her in, and the peace and warmth in his eyes as he faded only reassured her that he had no regrets or worries for her. She could only hope it was a measly con artist attempt, for the both of their interests.

She snaps her eyes towards the door when the jingle erupts in the silence of the small store. She raises on her tiptoes, frowning and trying to see above the aisles of snacks. She barely catches sight of the top of a black hood, paused at the front. She hears the man exchange what she assumes is a brief greeting, their voices both deep and low as she strains to listen. Upon seeing the man's hood begin to approach the aisles she finds herself in, she locks her gaze on him, quietly heading to the opposite edge of her aisle should she need to run.

She lowers herself onto her heels again as she watches him turn into the aisle directly in front of hers, now able to see his black hoodie from her height. The man stills about halfway up, back to her and looking at a product. She hears the faint rustling of plastic and returns to the middle of her aisle, preparing herself to move in either direction based on his actions. 

She huffs and shoves her hand into the pocket of her hoodie to send Flayn a text about her whereabouts, but her palm comes out empty. Alarm pulses through her and she clicks her tongue again, her hands patting around her clothes desperately to find it. She lets out a deep, controlled breath, hoping she left it at her apartment before she came out for her run. 

She glances back up and watches as the man takes off his hoodie and looks at the opposing row, now facing towards her own aisle. She notes to observe any man with blonde hair once she makes it out of the store.

Contemplating her options, she considers whether the better option is to leave first or linger. Her first instinct considers letting him leave first, but she winces at the memory of a man waiting for Jeralt outside a grocery store only to quickly drive a knife across his shoulder. Thankfully, that was all the man managed to get in before his cheek was slammed into the concrete, but Byleth remembered the tactic wearily nonetheless.

She makes her way towards the center of the store and begins to rapidly walk to the front where the cashier. 

"Oh, Ms-" she tenses and instinctively quickens her pace. However as she reaches the entry area, the cashier glancing up at her from his phone, she finds herself feeling significantly less threatened based on the tone of his voice. Hesitantly turning, she sees the man round the corner to look at her.

"Sorry to bother you." he lightly bows his head, his voice flat and tired. His hand digs into his pants pocket and she shifts her weight to be ready to dodge. 

Much to her surprise, he holds his hand out to her, and her eyes fall to her phone placed in his palm. She glances back at him, mouth open to begin questioning it.

"I saw you get up from a bench a few blocks back. You left this..." he murmurs, and Byleth finds she feels slightly guilty at having suspected him of something much more malicious when he had probably been running after her this whole time to return it to her. She takes in the heavy, purple bags under both his eyes and sighs.

"I'm so sorry," she apologizes, taking the few steps to receive it from him. "You alarmed me. I tried to escape you, if I'm honest."

His lips purse but he nods, "I understand. It's not a good hour, either." He tucks his head back into his pocket and pauses. "Take care," he says simply, and begins to turn back into the aisle of chips.

"Thank you," she says, louder than her previous responses. He gives no reply, and the pause in his step is all he gives to let her know he heard her as he walks away.

She opens her phone and is reassured with the lock on it, deeming it highly unlikely he touched anything inside it. Seeing as the time was approaching five, she exits the store, nodding to the cashier on her way out and heads home.

* * *

As the bell jingles, the King approaches the front of the store once more. The cashier looks up at him, "Her phone?"

"She genuinely lost it." he replies, crossing his arms. "I trailed her at a much greater distance originally to get her precise address, but when I saw she left something I figured I may as well return it."

"Are you sure you have time to do a good deed, Your Majesty?" he frowns.

"Ha," he lets out hollowly, "I got all her information out of it. It was very fortunate, my friend."

"I had no idea you were well versed in the mortal's technology."

"I am not - but thankfully I did not need to be. Angels are not the only beings that can create miracles," he smiles.

His friend chuckles, "So her address has been obtained?"

"Indeed-" he grins, "as well as her place of work."

"Ah," he ponders, placing his hand under his chin, "Is Your Majesty's idea going to be to find employment there?"

"Oh no, no," he waves off, placing his hoodie back on. "I'm going to get her fired. Then I'll offer her to work for me."

His friends chuckles, "Of course, how obvious, much simpler as well."

The King smiles at his friend, "Come now, Dedue. She will be forced to speak to me more if she requires my knowledge in an environment out of her comfort zone. If she were employed at her old job, she wouldn't feel compelled to speak at all. Surely you recall basic human behavior?"

"Certainly, Sir. I simply hope this is all worth it in the end."

"As do I," he sighs, shifting his weight to the other leg. He takes a seat next to his old friend behind the counter and discusses the last few days he experienced with Ingrid - from her records to his body bursting into flames. More than once is he interrupted by the loyalty of his retainer who is genuinely concerned for his wellbeing, even moreso when he takes in the apparent tiredness under his eyes. As he finishes his recollection, the clock above their heads tells them an hour has passed.

"You know, had Sothis simply granted us to ability to kill mortals, we wouldn't be here." 

Dedue shakes his head, "As irksome as this is, I wouldn't want that responsibility. The Goddess truly loves her creations, and I'd hate to be at the other end of her sword should I make a mistake."

He hums, pulling at the strings on his jacket as he contemplates the risks. "I suppose you may be right." He glances out the glass doors and sees dawn streak through the blackened sky from only an hour prior. "Given the information I've told you, do you have any idea what sort of anomaly we're dealing with here?"

"It escapes me," he replies immediately, frowning, "I've experienced only as much as you have. And the Goddess has never once made a mistake." They both turn at the sound of another entering the shop, and Dedue greets him, having a brief conversation before the man replaces him behind the counter.

The two friends leave the store, walking leisurely through the small parking lot. "However," Dedue begins again, "One theory I had was perhaps her Guardian Angel mistakenly saved her. We've had to communicate with Angels to secure a proper death, is it out of the question to think they may have made the opposite mistake?"

"Perhaps," he looks up at the brightening sky, "But I feel as though they would've contacted us and notified us about the mistake immediately. Unless they are choosing to hide it." He doesn't bother mention his doubt of her having a Guardian at all - though there is no solid proof, he finds his gut feeling is hardly ever astray from truth.

"I wouldn't believe that much, either, Sir. We are not enemies as we were in the Days of Old, like our ancestors. We all are required to look over the creations that Sothis loves so dearly."

The King feels the threat of a heavy frown weighing down the muscles in his face, but satisfies the urge by simply pressing his lips together. "Yes," he sighs, "We are better off not opposing Angels, anyways."

He stops walking at the sidewalk, eyes still tracing a cloud above them. Dedue looks back at him questioningly. The King meets his eye and informs him, "I will be locating Ms. Eisner's employer now, and persuade their subconscious to let her go as they are still sleep."

His retainer grunts and quickly offers, "I can do that, Your Majesty. Please get some rest."

"Nonsense," he raises a hand in dismissal, "It will not take too long."

"Precisely why I can easily handle it," he shoots back coolly. "The mortal time pacing is much quicker than that in the Underworld or Heaven. We should not fear rushing while in this realm, an entire day here is merely an hour in the beyond. Take this opportunity to get some rest."

He sighs, "Alright, I yield. I appreciate it, my friend. Truly."

Dedue bows, "Not a problem. I will see to it."

The two stand there as an irritated expression suddenly crosses over the retainer's face. The King lets out a laugh while Dedue curses quietly, "I forget we are limited to many things while committed to the mortal body."

"Indeed," he grins, "No teleporting. It'd surely be a sight to the holy and devout, but unfortunately the chaos is not worth the entertainment."

"Hm. Then I suppose I will be," he pauses, "walking there." He bows once more and heads in the opposite direction of the King's temporary earthbound home. The King only shakes his head in endearment, watching his retainer's figure retreat at a painstakingly mortal pace.


	4. business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh this chapter came out rather easy, I hope I can keep up the good rhythm :) As always, I appreciate all of you following and leaving kudos, I hope you enjoy <3

With the exhaustion settling well into her mind, the surrealism of the news only draws a reaction from her after a few minutes of sitting on the concrete outside the gym's entrance. The cement's chill is nipping at her exposed ankles as the sun rays narrowly miss her under the shade. She notices she's been feeling a lot colder these days, even as autumn is barely settling into Fhirdiad. She lets a heavy sigh out from her lungs, threading her fingers through her head and squeezing at the roots. Quickly, she shoots up, her legs extending again and she takes a few steps away from the building, then turns and heads back to the doors, then turns and walks away again.

She ignores the concerned looks of the few people that walk past her to enter the gym, and she finds envy quickly bubbling up inside of her that there are people that can enter with such ease in their hearts.

"Fired," she says aloud, to no one but the rows of planters lining the walkway. "Fired due to lack of funds. Sure, but," she shakes her head, clenching her fists. She wants to ask aloud once more to the planters, but why me? But she finds it in her best interest to refrain from that line of questioning.

Her father would tolerate and understand her frustration, but would grunt at any hint of entitlement stemming from such emotions. She was not raised to assume the worst in people while flaunt her own inflated perspective. Letting out one last deep breath, she returns to her car, starting it up and clenching the steering wheel as the last shreds of anger dissipated from her system.

Worse, much worse things have happened, she reminds herself as she backs out of her parking spot.

As she hits a red light, she realizes she doesn't know exactly where she's driving to. She acknowledges the complete lack of sleep she suffered the night before, having only gotten back from her jog 3 hours ago. She considers going back to her apartment to take advantage of the time to rest, as the day is still young, with most still on their way to work. Though her eyelids droop and her eyes themselves burn and fizzle with what feels like the dry ache to rest, she feels her body is not as in time with what her head tells her to feel.

Pulling into the closest grocery store, she decides to grab the few things she noticed she needed throughout the week before heading home to rest. As she shuffles through the store, she only then begins to feel the results of her exhaustion kicking in. While her consciousness cannot help but gravitate towards the events of the blonde woman, she has overanalyzed the memory and every possible outcome so thoroughly that there is not much more on the matter she can find herself attaching to. As she groggily places butter into her basket, the dreadful realization that she must go job hunting now dawns. She stands in the aisle and closes her eyes, very narrowly almost giving in to the temptation to simply lay in the cooled shelves of cream cheese and butter and rest there for hours. But, no. She did that once before and Jeralt had picked her up by the ankles.

So she walks past that section and onto the next, her mind rapidly flipping through any opportunity she can recall. Two simple jobs would be suitable, she thinks, unfortunately realizing she likely won't find any other job having to do with fencing and training within the city. She's never been opposed to mindless work. There were countless moments where Jeralt forced her to keep herself busy in her own way while he was focused on something else. She'd poke bugs with sticks, make mud pies, flip over rocks and skip them on the lake, fish. There was always an abundance of time for her as well, it seemed, most likely explaining her patience with most things and people. As she stood in line for the only opened checkout, she glanced around the station for any sign of an opening.

The cashier noticed her wandering eyes and asked about it.

"Looking for a job," she replies simply, unloading her items onto the belt.

"I'm working a few," he informs her, and she glances at his equally tired expression behind his smile and believes his claim, "Two are hiring, if you're interested." She looks at him expectantly as he begins ringing her items up, "One is a corporate job - internships for people that are looking to study, they have a whole program where they'll even help pay for tuition if they want to hire you after you graduate."

Byleth rolls the idea around in her mind, unsure of if she was willing to go through education again. "The other?"

"Library," he shrugs, "Makes minimum and is admittedly boring since I'm not even allowed to read anything when its slow, but hey, boring is sometimes good."

She agrees with that, wholeheartedly. "How can they tell if you're serious about getting back into school?" She inserts her card into the terminal. 

"Either you're already enrolled, or they make you apply for a school through them. It's a good set up, if you ask me," he hands her her bags, "Don't know if you're looking for low commitment, but I think you'd be great!" His eyes light up and he sends her a weak smile.

She raises her eyebrow at his cheeriness, especially with the glaringly obvious exhaustion creeping into his eyes. "I'll look into it, I appreciate it. What is the company?"

He smiles softly again, "Beyond Co. They buy and sell a lot of land throughout Faerghus for small businesses."

"Alright," she murmurs, noting the name. "I thank you again," she looks at his nametag, "Ashe."

"Of course, Ms...?" 

"Byleth. Eisner," she replies.

He nods his head, his smile still present. "Well, Byleth, hopefully I'll see you around, then. Good luck!"

After reaching halfway through the route to her apartment, she finds herself making a u-turn and heading to the Church. The heavy pumping of her blood gives her enough to clue in that laying in bed will only result in three hours of her eyes glued to the stains on her ceiling. As she drives, her thoughts briefly entertain the notion of opening up to the pastor of the church. Though their relationship never progressed beyond greetings and farewells, Byleth felt compelled to touch on the instinct to confide in her after the event at Jeralt's grave. Her meeting with Flayn and the odd amount of reactions and dismissals she received furthered her discomfort at the thought of the vacant church, but her unsettled stomach disfavored the blonde woman even more.

When she arrives, she pauses in her seat at the sight of another figure in the parking lot, their car parked much closer to the path that leads to the church rather than the school. Eyeing the man's back as he walks through the lot, she begins to doubt if her gut instinct about the place of worship was misplaced. Perhaps she truly did have bad luck? She sighs, placing a hand on her forehead and internally apologizing to Flayn if so.

As she locks her car, she begins to follow far behind the man, both heading the same way towards the entrance. Her steps begin to slow when the man stops, and she approaches him hesitantly before he turns to face her. Her pace is immediately cut off upon that, and her brain races through memories to recall his face.

"Oh, it's you." his voice is muffled by distance and wind.

"From...-" she begins.

"Your phone," he nods, walking back to her but stopping reasonably far.

"Yes," she rubs an eye, sighing, "I completely forgot, though it was a few hours ago. Excuse my rudeness."

"No worries," he says, his face mirroring what she can only describe as her own usual mask, void of much else besides minimum politeness. "I don't expect you to remember my face after a minute of speaking." He looks at the floor beneath them, "Dimitri."

"Byleth," she nods, mustering a polite smile and walking towards him, "Nice to meet a fellow insomniac out in the sunlight."

He huffs, "Indeed. My friend suggested I rest, but a few hours was all I could manage." The two begin to walk with each other towards the entrance of the church. 

"At least you look more cleaned up now, as oppose to myself," she says halfheartedly, eyeing the suit and formal shoes he now has on. In contrast, she is still in clothes made to exercise in as she had been expecting to spend the day with clients at the gym.

"Merely necessary for work," he replies simply.

Byleth glances at him, takes in his furrowed eyebrows and the glint in his eyes, but he doesn't continue speaking.

Walking to the glass doors, Byleth holds it open for him, and he nods his thanks. He stands in the open narthex, still before the second set of doors that lead to the nave filled with pews. When Byleth begins to walk towards the next room, she notes the confused look on his face that he tries to conceal. Though she doesn't say a word, and is somewhat still startled at the sheer coincidence of meeting him, of all people, here, she holds the door open in wait.

He snaps out of his focus and quickly reaches her, muttering a thanks. She continues down the long aisle, her pace slightly faster than his as she hears the click of his own shoes tapping the clean tile at a slow, almost reluctant speed. She glances around at the various hallways, eyes scanning the sight of soft green hair, but sees nothing. This is the first time the pastor hasn't already been near the altar upon her arrival, as well.

Lowering herself to her knees in the usual spot she takes besides the pastor, she sighs and clasps her hands together loosely, closing her eyes and attempting to ignore the still slow steps of the man behind her.

He stops at a distance from her, and she attempts to gather her thoughts. After minutes, she notices there was no sound to signify he had taken a seat, and he was certainly not kneeling beside her, either. Opening her eyes, she glances behind her only to catch his eyes, a distasteful look within them.

Having been caught off guard at his unsavory reaction to her praying, she swallows and tries to refocus on her prayer, asking Sothis questions and wishing for better future fortune. After more minutes pass, the heat of his gaze at the back of her head is still an insufferable distraction. She drops her hands, turning her head to glance at him, "Are you stalking me? Or are you here to pray?" She immediately regrets the cold tone laced in her voice, but she has no will to fix it or apologize, partially due to her lack of energy and patience, partially because the man truly is exhibiting odd behavior.

Just as she thought, his eyes are already on hers once she had turned, but the bewildered look that he tried to earlier conceal is now blatantly cast along his face. "Are you...joking?"

She clicks her tongue in annoyance, standing and facing him, "Please, sir," she tries to bite at the further irritation building in her tone, "I am grateful you did me a favor earlier this morning. I don't wish to be rude, but you must forgive me as I'm terribly tired right now and not in the mood to be stalked."

"I..." he trails off, looking only mildly offended and still overwhelmingly puzzled, "I arrived here...before you, though."

She pauses at that realization, shaking her head and muttering, "You are correct. I want to apologize, but now I must ask what your business here is besides staring at the back of my head."

He purses his lips, "It seemed like a place I could sit and think about a few things without the bother of other people."

"Funny, I thought so as well," she slips out, "But here you are. Failing to think, failing to pray, really only here, making me uncomfortable."

He smiles, the gesture clearly sarcastic in the way his eyes hold restrained aversion towards her, "I assure you, I need this valuable time to myself more than you."

She feels her fingers twitch at the sudden flip in his demeanor. Though she knows its hypocritical, as she began the hostility to begin with, an unexplainable train of thoughts in her subconscious yell at her to push this man far, far away. "You do not know anything of my life," her jaw clenches at his scoff at that, "I don't recall ever challenging you to a contest, either. I simply ask you to leave me alone. If you are not religious, and are not here to pray, you can go to a local park." She turns back to the front, raising her head to gaze at the statue of Sothis.

"W-why...?" he begins, the surprise and mild irritation still obvious in his voice, "Why must I be _praying?_ Cannot I simply think to myself? I'm not sure why you keep bringing up religion."

She turns back to him, and the confusion on both of their faces only further bother each other. "I see. So it's you that is joking." She shakes her head and closes her eyes, cursing the Goddess for giving her such unpleasant interactions with such distasteful people.

"I am not joking." His voice is loud in the empty room.

She stares at him for a moment incredulously, but he shows not a single ounce of shame as his eyes remained locked onto hers condescendingly. She blinks and mutters, "You come to a church and ask why I mention religion? Perhaps you do need time to think."

His eyes glance around the large room at the stained glass ceilings, the pews, the statues. He turns and turns and takes it all in. Finally his eyes meet hers, and he utters frustratedly, " _What church_?"

At this point, the rush of her own blood is loud in her ears. "Sir- Dimitri." She raises both her hands, struggling to come up with anything else to say to this man. "Do you know what a church is?"

He grins sarcastically again, "Why, no I don't. In fact, even despite ninety percent of mortals being religious, I, for one, have never once seen a church. Pray tell what that is. Is it similar to the abandoned warehouse we are standing in right now?"

At the man's words, she immediately finds herself enraged, but then a cold chill down her spine dissipates the fury. As much as she wants to believe the man has probably just decided she would be fun to toy with, she finds herself more alarmed at the genuine anger that has flared up in his eyes. Believing he is messing with her is easy, in this world. Believing that he is speaking sincerely opens up a pit in her stomach.

Her eyes immediately glance at the ceiling, the clean white tiled floors, the rows of pews just behind the man. She looks at him again, "Alright. I have had enough of this nonsense. Please, just leave. This is ridiculous, and I no longer have any idea what you're on about." 

"You are..." he shakes his head, "Terrifyingly delusional. You know, I'll admit," he lets out a hollow laugh, "In all my years, I have seen many people at their weakest, and have felt pure empathy and sadness. But I simply do not know what to feel about you, Ms. Eisner. Perhaps only pity. You are delusional, and I can only wish you luck. It's unfortunate we met this way, and it's unfortunate you have such character." He turns on his heel, retreating back down the aisle.

The intense desire to fall to her knees and simply forget his existence almost pulls her from realizing, "How do you know my last name?"

He halts, turning back to her and sighing, "I will concede to you. An intern that works for me mentioned we may be receiving a new applicant." She immediately recalls the cashier that morning. She opens her mouth to ask a question, but he continues, "I assume it is you, as I've never heard such a first name before. And I can also assure you I will not consider you after this coincidental meeting. That is," a hint of a grin spreads across his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest, facing her again fully, "You are willing to perhaps speak to me with respect and offer an apology?"

She stares. Indeed, she was interested in applying to the Beyond Co. - but she was not at all desperate for that job specifically. The sheer amount of assumptions the man before her has made shocks her into silence. She feels incredibly insulted, and though her face shows little besides a minor frown, she is sure her eyes show the full extent of her distaste. "I do believe I am no longer interested in the job, not after meeting the man I'd have the misfortune of working under."

His smile only slightly falters and the stiffness in his shoulder relaxes. Byleth, with her gaze often commented on as incredibly unnerving, has no issue in keeping the eye contact.

His laughter begins to echo against the walls, building from a few chuckles to a loud, steady stream. He opens his eyes again after his fit, and she recognizes the anger in him has completely vanished. He looks utterly amused, and it utterly infuriates her.

"I do not like you, one bit," he smiles, "But you would work well at the company."

"No." she scoffs.

His smile widens, "You want me to apologize, now, Ms. Eisner?"

"Not at all." she frowns further. "I can find another job. I wish to be here in peace."

His smile softens, and the amusement in his eyes fizzles. "I will allow you it. But I implore you to still apply." He bows to her. "I will apologize regardless. I try to be benevolent in my position, but I lack interactions outside that of my career." She says nothing, taking the cue that he is not done speaking. "I can only guarantee I will not treat you this way should you apply."

His smile is expectant, but she feels only pity for his cluelessness. She huffs, "Sir, with all due respect, I can tell you are not lying when you say you have minimal interaction. To be honest, you unnerve me. There is nothing I've shown to make you want me as an intern this much, especially after what we discussed. You don't make any sense." With a shake of her head, she turns back to Sothis.

"So you've made your choice?" his grin can be heard.

"Yes," she sighs, though doesn't feel at ease as she fails to hear the sound of him leaving.

Her eyes trace the statue's features. She feels winded after engaging with the odd visitor, and concludes she likely is very, very unlucky. She almost considers walking past him and leaving the church altogether, but his voice interrupts her once more.

"I understand now. You must know," a pause, "...Rhea?"

She sucks in a breath, turning to look at him doubtfully. "So you deny we are in a church, but you know of the pastor?"

His face is smug, and there is another glint in his eyes as she confirms his suspicions. "So I was correct. It is all clear now," he closes his eyes, silent for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. "Well, Ms. Eisner, seeing as I made an irredeemable impression on you, I suppose this is the part where I tempt you with valuable information."

"Such as?" her body tenses at that, her mind tracing only one train of thought.

"Whatever you'd like to know," he beckons her to approach him. She takes only a few steps further to improve her hearing towards his now calmed, normal volume voice.

"Whatever?" she frowns. "Unless you are the Goddess or an angel in disguise, I do not think the questions I have could be answered by a corporate boss."

His smile is unwavering, "You're right, I am neither. Try me."

She takes in the bizarreness of it all and tests her luck once more. "I'd like to know who visited my father's grave yesterday."

"Are you referring to yourself, or the woman with short blonde hair?" his voice fakes contemplation as he wraps his fingers below his chin mockingly.

She approaches him now, her pulse rocketing out of her body. Her throat is suddenly terribly, terribly dry. Her tone shifts to accusatory, "Are you an accomplice? What do you want from me? How do you know my father? Or Rhea-"

He raises a hand to silence her. "I trust you believe me now. I'd like to say again, I implore you to apply for the job. While I'd love to answer your questions, I need answers from you, too." He takes a step back, his body beginning to turn away. "I'm looking forward to our partnership, Ms. Eisner."

She watches as his figure retreats to the glass doors, and she calls out to him, following, "Why can't we discuss now?"

He replies, still walking further, "I must consult someone. You understand." Desperation begins to bloom in the back of her mind, invasive like a plant poisoning any sense of reason still left. She sees the only person that could provide her with answers slipping away from her grasp.

However, as his fingers lace around the handle, he turns and adds, "Oh. I forgot to mention. Should you know...anyone else with green hair, including your pastor, do not tell them of this meeting." She stops in her tracks, and nods, obedient only for the sake of guaranteeing a lead. "Do not mention what happened at the grave, either. Anything out of the ordinary, really. Until next time."

He walks down the path, eventually out of sight within the next minute. She releases a breath she didn't know she was holding as her eyes absentmindedly trace the church walls for the umpteenth time.

Fragments of thoughts and questions flash in her mind, overlapping and replacing each other at a pace that makes her lightheaded. The pastor has not shown, still. She settles for taking a seat at the pew, opting to reflect on what she should do rather than continue her original intent to pray. She wasn't certain if the man, Dimitri, was trustworthy - at this point she highly doubted so - but she couldn't bring herself to feel comforted by Rhea or Flayn either. Perhaps the Goddess wasn't at her side, 

Seeing as she had little to no information on the blonde woman, she could only find herself picking apart at the conversation she had just finished with the businessman. There was no room for guessing when he responded, and his reply was almost immediate as well. The only two possibilities she could come up with was either he was an accomplice of the woman, and they had an ulterior motive, or, as she had suggested offhandedly, he was somehow related to otherwordly powers.

Even after Byleth had taken up religion, more often than not she knew she was struggling to force herself to believe she was being heard in her prayers. It was always a conscious effort on her part. However, the single instance that convinced her of the existence of higher beings was the fall of the leaves cleanly onto the rectangle where her father's corpse lay beneath.

There was a chance she was now heavily entangled with something religious, but there was also a chance that that situation was not entirely related to the two blonde strangers. Her instinct was of no help to her. Her logic even less so - with such little information and no experience in such surreal coincidences, she couldn't seem to grasp any logical train of thought she could follow about the topic to begin with. Death of her only loved one, followed by the relentless, forced appearance of various strangers upon her taking up religion? There was nowhere to turn but inwards.

And so she closed her eyes, relayed their conversation, and tried to carefully piece apart every detail about his words that she could. The most significant thing she noticed was the drastic, sudden changes in his attitude, as though he was given new, updated information about her halfway through their exchanges. When she had met him earlier that morning, he was incredibly passive and forgettable. He was certainly not the same persona that flashed grins and condescending questions at her by the end of their talk.

She tried to recall the moments he had shifted. One was natural, when he became hostile after her own biting attitude. The second was when he admitted he worked at the company recommended to her by the cashier. The third was after he mentioned Rhea. To her, the largest discrepancy was the shift between the second and third times.

Just before he began to pressure her into applying, he had very confidently given the impression of simply leaving the church altogether. Had she not questioned how he knew her last name, he would've simply left. This behavior alone gave her some reassurance that perhaps he had no ill intention - that even he himself did not specifically expect the outcome as it happened. 

However as soon as he did fixate on the prospect of hiring her, the motive behind his words became painfully clear. This was what caused her great anxiety. Without even mentioning anything about herself, he deemed her as someone he was going to latch onto, whether she allowed it or not. The thought that he knew such information about her that he saw worthy pf pursuing, like the event at the grave, caused goosebumps to prick at her cold skin. He closed his eyes so gently, peacefully, when mentioning Rhea, as though he was being sent the information from the Goddess herself. What was the extent of his knowledge, his power? Was she dealing with corruption, or faith?

There was only so far until any form of reasoning plummeted to the ground. She could not stand all the loose ends that lay at her feet. She rose from her seat, still the only being in the church, and began to head out, skeptical of what any more prayers could possibly offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dimileth having any sort of argument is soso odd for to me, I cant fathom them disagreeing about anything outside of maybe what tea is better lol. but I suppose thats why I need to ~sprinkle~ a hint of feral dimitri, w all his dramatic laughing and dialogue lol. + byleth is just ruthless to him, the feral dima in this world gets zero benefit of the doubt since there's no pre established academy phase puppy love to make her go easy on him ╥﹏╥ only...parents...fighting...


End file.
